


Years Latter

by DeniedLove



Series: Geralt and Jaskier’s Cute Adventures [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Love, M/M, Major Character Passed, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeniedLove/pseuds/DeniedLove
Summary: Following Geralt years into his life, after his lover and child have passed away.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Original Male Character/Original Female Character
Series: Geralt and Jaskier’s Cute Adventures [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616710
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	Years Latter

Years latter, after Jakub has grown into a man, making a trail through the world of his own, following his own path. After Jaskier grows old and settles in their small home for the long run. Years latter, after his love is buried into the ground, his little Pumpkin has grown old and is lying next to his daddy. Geralt continues on. 

Each year her visits their old cottage, many times over the seasons. Occasionally he will winter there, visiting his great grandchildren. For they are just as much his as they are Jaskier’s. They have his eyes and his hair. Jakub, luckily, finds a woman who puts up with him and his ever traveling parents. 

She was kind, loving, and would not take any level of shit from Jakub. It was refreshing really and the thought of her warms Geralt’s heart to this day. Now their daughter had a daughter of her own. A beautiful woman, with Jaskier’s mop of hair, worn long to her waist, his blue eyes shine on her features. He loves her, his great granddaughter. She has boys. One is the spitting image of his love and heart, Jaskier, the other looks like his father, but is talented in music. 

They too make Geralt’s heart feel full. Some times he brings them presents, toys, clothing, sometimes food, or just coin to help them get by. 

He rides the current Roach up the winding road that leads to his little cottage, safely tucked away from the world. 

He hears the fighting before he sees the two boys wrestling in the dirt. 

“Natan, Tymon!” Geralt rumbles out in a rough voice catching the young boys attention. 

They snap to their feet and line up quickly. 

“Grandpapa!” They squeal but stand still, or as still as children can stand when they have too much energy. 

Geralt jumps down from his saddle and looks the boys over. He grabs Natan by the chin and examine a growing bruise on his right eye. 

“Did you do this boy?” He pulls Tymon’s attention to him. Tymon’s cornflower blues are having a problem looking him directly in his yellow slitted eyes. 

“Yes sir.” The boy says shyly. 

“And why exactly are you punching your brother?” Geralt questions the spunky ten year old. 

“He stole my sword!” The boy wines. 

“Did not!” Natan retaliates. 

“Quite.” Geralt shushes them quickly. “Your mother give you a sword?” His eyes bores into Tymon’s. There is no way Izabella gave her boys a sword. He has been arguing with her for years about training them on a dagger let alone a sword. 

“No,” the boys answer in unison. 

“I found a good and sturdy stick and have been playing with it. But then Natan took it and broke it.” 

Geralt follows the boys pointed finger and sure enough, a broken stick is lying on the ground.

“Hhhm.” He says as he takes in the sight of his grandchildren. 

Kneeling down to their level he takes both of their hands. 

“You do not attack your brother.” Tymon is having problems looking the old Witcher in the eyes so he uses his strong hand to guide the boys chin. “Look at me,” their eyes connect, “you will not punch your bother...”

Tymon shakes his head, “I will not punch my brother.”

“And you,” turning to Natan who keeps his gaze with unwavering confidence, “you will not antagonize your brother.” 

Natan takes a bit too long to respond so Geralt gives the boy his darkest glare and a shake. 

“I will not antagonize my brother.” The boy is reluctant and there is a ‘but’ or an ‘unless’ hanging in the air. That’s fine, Geralt will beat him into submission with training here soon. In true Witcher fashion. 

“If you two can not be good than I will not give you your presents.” He threatens the boys and their eyes go wide. 

“Grandpapa we will be very good!” 

“Yes we promise!”

Now their eyes are full of eager delight they wrap their arms around him in a tight hug. Even at their age, Geralt lifts the boys up like they weigh nothing. 

“Grandpapa, what did you bring us?” Natan insists as he pulls on Geralt’s hair.

“You will have to prove yourselves worthy of gifts now.” 

“Aw but Grandpapa it was an accident, I didn’t mean to break Tymon’s stick.”

“You did too!” Tymon retorts, “You put it over you knee to crack it!”

“I did not!” The boys continue to argue in Geralt’s arms, so naturally, he dumps them upside down and manhandles them onto one shoulder. Effectively squishing them as he ties Roach off in the front of the house. 

They squeal and squirm, loudly pleading to be put back on the ground. 

“What in the name of all the gods is going on out here?” Izabella comes out of the cottage, whipping flour off her hands and placing them on her hips. 

Her blue eyes glitter with mirth as she eyes the boys backsides protruding from Geralt’s large frame. 

“I found these trouble makers up to no good, fighting in the front of your home my lady.” Geralt whacks each bottom lightly as the boys plead for their freedom. 

He drops the boys down and grips them by the shoulders, preventing their escape. Their mother eyes up the mess that is her sons, one a blackening eye and the other a bruised lip. 

“Ok, what did you two do?” Izabella questions their captives. 

After a moment of silence, Geralt gives Natan a small shake. 

“I stole and broke Tymon’s stick, but mama he was playing sword with it.” Natan tattles but quiets quickly from Geralt’s rumbling growl. 

The boys knew better than to tangle with with their Grandfather, they have seen him fight down a wild bore with just a knife years ago while helping him hunt for dinner. Needless to say, that was the last time mama aloud them to go hunting, they had nightmares for months over the incident. The only saving grace was how the battle raised their Grandpapa higher on a hero’s pedestal in their mind. 

Tymon is shaken next. “I punched Natan in the eye for steeling my stick.”

It looked like it was a good punch too by Geralt’s judgement. He’ll have to praise the boy latter for his form. That was pat of last years training. 

“And where did you learn to punch young man?” 

Oh fuck, Gerlat kept a very straight face in hopes to not give away his guilt to his granddaughter. No matter how stone faced the Witcher was, the boy was not, and his eyes drifted up to the figure standing behind him. His mothers eyes follow. 

“Huh.” She says in a perfect replica of Geralt’s own distasteful ‘humph’. 

“You could at least have the curtsy to look remorseful you know.” She directs at the large man who just shrugs in return. 

“The boy needs to learn how to punch.”

“Clearly he doesn’t.” She retorted. “All right you two.” She takes possession of her children and push them in the direction of the stables. “Muck out a spot for Roach.” 

“But mama...” they whine, “do we have to?”

“You listen here you little hellions, you are owed a beating for attacking each other. Be happy your just shoveling some shit instead.” With a final push the boys are gone. 

“And you,” she points to her grandfather. “Teaching the boys to punch.” Her distaste is curbed slightly by the tight hug Geralt wraps around her. 

“It’s good to see you are healthy and well my sun and star.” He says, planting a kiss on her head. 

“And what horrible presents did you bring my little monsters this year?” She asked as she wraps her arm around his waist, guiding the Witcher into the home. 

It has not changed much. A fresh coat of paint and some additions but overall it is mostly the same house as when they first built it all those years ago. 

“Well dearheart if you don’t like the punching lessons you won’t like what I have for this year.”

“Grandfather,” Izabella groans, “we’ve had this conversation.”

“And I have told you how it will be young one.” Geralt’s tone holds no room for change. “I have taught you how to wield a sword, I have taught your mother and taught her father before her. I will not have any children of mine running around this continent with out the ability to hold their own in a battle.” The old Witcher is stuck in his ways, Izabella knows this and still loves him. 

Izabella prepares some dough for fresh bread. Needing it with a bit more strength than intended.

“Eryk will not be pleased.” She warns of her husbands views on the boys learning to fight, that they align with hers. 

Geralt shrugs the comment away. “If I remember it was your skill in a sword that won his heart. Besides, he has no say in this.”

“Does he, the leader of a city guard, not want his own boys to learn to fight for themselves?” Geralt continues.

“Former leader, he has since retired and now aids in the farms with their protection.” She wipes her hands again and finds a bottle of ale tucked away for her favorite visitor. “He and I do not want to see them drafted into an army. If they can fight they will be easy additions and I will not have that.”

“So you would deny them their heritage and right?” Geralt reasons back. “I remember you being very willing to learn at their age. You begged me to take you to Kaer Morhen and train you as a Witcher.” They share a smile of this memory as she pours out two glasses of drink. 

“We’ll talk more about it when Eryk returns from the fields.” Ignoring Geralt’s grunt of protest. “Please tell me you brought them more than some training swords that they can poke their eyes out with.” She sits across the table from him, enjoying her grandfathers presence. She doesn’t get him for long but when he’s home it feels right, whole. 

“There are some items in Roaches saddle bags that I have brought for all of you. New books from Oxenfurt for Eryk, swords and instruments for the boys, some lace I found that made me think of you. A few other things.”

Her smile warms him. “You don’t need to bring us anything.”

“Hmm.” Is his only reply. 

He does and she knows why. It’s the small family grave yard at the corner of their land. It’s in the middle of a field of wild flowers. Right where he wanted to be buried. From there the rest of the family extended. Even a few family friends laid in the field, graves marked by piles of stones. Izabella, her parents, and their parents kept an ongoing ledger of names and dates of the people who joined their granddaddy in the field of flowers. 

They continued to talk till the boys came in from their chores. Geralt told her of where he had been and she talks of the boys most recent experiences over the year. Of broken arms and kikamora nests. Nathan’s first kiss with the milk maids youngest daughter and how he was chased around the small local village by her older brother. He took after Jaskier a bit more than Geralt liked. Boy was going to be the death of his parents. 

Tymon’s breathtaking anger management issues, also taking after his great granddaddy. Jaskier’s had a bite to him when he was angry. Here Izabella admits that maybe some sword discipline may actually help her aggressive son. That or the beating and exhaustion of drills may knock some of that anger out of him. 

By the time Eryk returns to his home he finds himself the minority in the decision of the boys fighting lessons, much to his distaste. He is won over by the books gifted to him, he really is a good man whom loves his family, and Geralt greatly appreciates him. 

Izabella does find happiness in the fine lace Geralt gives her. It has flowers stitched into the delicate pattern. An expensive gift, but part of a payment from some noble man for clearing a werwolf from his prestigious city. It reminds him of her and Jaskier. They both like fine things. Jaskier would have loved his great granddaughter. He would have loved all of his grandchildren. 

After a late night of drinking and wrestling with the little ones, Geralt retires to the room set aside for guests. It was honestly his and Jaskier’s room, added on when Jakub first got married. 

It holds many of his lovers old items and some of his. Slowly as time passed, this became like a small shrine to his and Jaskier’s former life. A Portrait of the two of them, standing side by side, lived in this room. The bard had insisted on the painting when he started to slow down. “Before I start to look old!” 

Geralt had to admit, now later on, it was a good idea. The house had a few professional paintings done. One of Jakub and his dearly departed love, another of Isabella and Eryk that Geralt insisted on. It has become the tradition in this house, one that will be passed on for generations to come. 

His lute lived here also. Every once in a while Geralt would rub it down with oil, the fine elvin instrument does not show a minuet older than the first day Filavandrel gifted it to Jaskier. the Witcher cradles it in his arms, half drunk, heart both light and heavy having returned home to grief and joy. Memories swim in his mind as he caresses the old instrument his heart pulls and fills with the need of his lovers touch. 

He falls asleep, one hand over the lute, and with unshed tears in his drunken eyes but his heart full. Jaskeir may be gone from this world but he left behind a gift like none other, a constant family, full of his spunk, endless chatter, and hope. Geralt has sworn to protect his family and home and protect it he does till his last breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this sad but uplifting short story.
> 
> Please remember to stay safe and to love one another.
> 
> I’m also on tumblr now!
> 
> denied-love


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